


A Secret Place, A Sweet Escape

by citizenjess (givehimonemore)



Category: Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fertility Issues, Infidelity, M/M, Multi, Office Sex, Putting on the Away Message, Vaginal Sex, three-way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 16:57:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givehimonemore/pseuds/citizenjess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bail's personal assistant, Sheltay Retrac, sees, and sometimes, even participates, in many goings-ons around the office, including Bail's relationship with one, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi; eventual Bail/Obi-Wan/Sheltay three-way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Secret Place, A Sweet Escape

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place sometime latently during the Clone Wars. For the unintiated, of course, Sheltay (Wookieepedia her, I'll wait!) is a canon character (and a WoC, besides, whee!) who shows up in the Prequels (in her single, white outfit that was initially conceived as one of Padme's, natch), and a side perk of the hilarious, weird-ass RP Sarah and I have been participating in this summer over on Tumblr has allowed me to get rather well-acquainted with her (see "sheltayretrac" on Tumblr, as well as "yellowpodracer," "queenhandmaidensenator," "h-e-l-l-o-t-h-e-r-e," "anakinwalkerofskies," "obiwankenooobi," "senatorbailorgana," and probably some others that I'm missing, sorry), and well, she is fun as shit to write. As an aside, I don't think the Obi-Wan in this story is either Fass' perpetually anxious, insanely gay, possibly IBS-laden Obes, nor my decidedly saltier, shitty asshole Master Kenobi who calls Anakin "fat tits" and refuses to help him figure out whether he's flow-walked into another dimension this Saturday night or is just extremely drunk/high because he's busy broggling Bail Organa and cannot be arsed, but uh, some combination of the two? Something like that, anyways. Title comes from Natasha Bedingfield's "Pocket Full of Sunshine" because, well, IDK.

In truth, she hasn't known all that many Jedi in her life. Having attended the same finishing school as Sola Naberrie, she had been privy to occasional rumors and sordid tales of what may or may not have been Sola's younger sister Padme's "Jedi fetish" (these stories often occurred after a prescient amount of shots of Life Day cake-flavored liquor), but other than that, the Order had always seemed like an ascetic society of monks living in their backyard, at which she could look (and did - perhaps Padme was onto something, after all; the whole robe-tunic-boots combo was pretty hot, all things considered), but never quite reach out and touch.

That is, of course, until she finds out that her boss is broggling at least one of them.

Obi-Wan Kenobi is a pretty man, Sheltay decides; fair-haired, nicely-kept beard, meticulously filed fingernails. She first notices those when he hands her a tiny white slip of paper, on which she recognizes Bail Organa's quick, small penmanship. "I believe this appointment card belongs to you, my dear?" Kenobi queries, and his smile is almost obstructed by the facial fuzz, a wry thing. 

For her part, Sheltay isn't sure how or why her boss saw fit to go through the motions of an appointment card for someone like General Kenobi, nor can she quite figure out why he felt the need to do so by filling the thing out himself, which would have mandated his going through the top drawer of her desk while she was either on her lunch break or, well, later, after the work day was over. Curiouser and curiouser, she muses. In any case, she takes the card and hits a single button on her call-receiver, the one at the very top, with her index finger: "Senator? General Obi-Wan Kenobi is here to see you. He has an appointment at ... smiley-face time, according to you." Above her, she can even feel Obi-Wan smirk.

Bail, too, sounds impressed. "Send him in, please," he proffers, and cuts the connection. She watches the slight man make his way to just in front of Bail's private office door, stained a rich mahogany; it opens a crack, and he makes to enter, but not before turning to face her: "By the way, that's a lovely shade of polish you're wearing today."

Immediately, her hands flutter nervously. "I actually borrowed it from Senator Amidala," she squeaks, and okay, she's blushing, like the time that boy Palo told her he thought she was pretty and then asked if he could sketch her sitting under her favorite tree when she was about twelve. The thing of it is, though, that she should be over that kind of behavior in her almost-thirties, now; and yet.

For his part, however, Obi-Wan is the paragon of diplomacy, which, she figures, is perhaps one of the reasons (she will soon discover some others) Bail likes him so much. "Yes, I saw her wearing it last week," he smiles, and the door closes lightly behind him. Neither Obi-Wan nor Bail come out before it's time for Sheltay to leave for the afternoon - in their defense, she is well aware of the private 'fresher within Senator Organa's inner-sanctum, and the small cooling unit for snacks, besides - and she eventually finds that she's more than a little disappointed about that.

*

 

The next time Obi-Wan comes to visit follows much of the same rigmarole, with the possible exception of an appointment card. (Still, the day following her first official introduction to General Kenobi, Bail had asked her to discreetly mark up that particular three-hour block once a week into infinity on his official Senate calendar. "Just put 'diplomatic negotiations' as a description if anyone asks," he'd instructed, but so far, no one had.)

Well into her post-lunch work day, Sheltay has no intention of interrupting her boss and his friend's dedication to diplomacy (such that it is), but then a particularly persistent government official from the Mid-Rim throws a wrench into her afternoon plan of opening Senator Organa's junk mail and discreetly surfing the Holonet for funny pictures of fluff pittins. "You tell him that this absolutely cannot wait," Delegate So-and-So bristles at her, on the heels of a ten-minute rant about how young she sounds and how wrong that must make the information she gives him about Bail being presently unavailable to chit-chat with him. "Go get him, sweetie, he'll know it's important," he adds, and Sheltay fights the urge to press the button on the receiver that will silently end the call.

"Hold, please," she says finally, and, with great restraint, hits the 'hold' button instead. Standard protocol is to knock on the door, but Bail has never held her to particularly strict standards - "if you're coming in here, I'll know it's for something important," he'd told her once, a sympathetic nod to the task she would soon undertake of parsing out which of Breha's frantic correspondences were important, and which ones could be cliff-noted and saved for later. (In general: Anything involving pregnancy or Breha's lack thereof was a 'come right in' situation, whereas detailed discussions of Breha's plans to redecorate Bail's esteemed 'man-cave' within their palatial home on Alderaan into a nursery [in pink, always in pink] could be jotted down on a notepad and slipped to him on his way out of the building for the evening.) She twists the knob - there is a lock, but Bail has never used it - and pokes her head inside.

"Hey, boss, that guy from Ando Prime keeps calling back and I think this time he might really be ... oh, I guess you're busy," she trails off, staring stupidly at what has been happening just beyond the wall of her own posh corner office area for approximately 90 minutes at that point. 

Bail certainly looks busy, at least. Propped against the large, richly upholstered red armchair that sits diagonally adjacent to his own ginormous wooden desk, Senator Organa's sense of diplomacy seems to have been waylaid entirely (or maybe simply uniquely interpreted) by having Obi-Wan sprawled across his lap. It's interesting, Sheltay thinks, because from first appearances, Obi-Wan does not appear to be all that much shorter than Bail; and yet, here, one leg hooked playfully around the Alderaanian Senator's waist, Bail's hand combing across a couple of inches of bare skin from Kenobi's loosened tunic front, he looks almost small, and quite pliable, besides. 

It stands to reason that her entrance surprises them both; and also, she suspects her presence is disappointing, given that Bail had seemed right in the middle of making out with Obi-Wan as the door had opened - his tongue had quickly disappeared back into the appropriate mouth (his own), and Obi-Wan had made a(n adorable, in her opinion ... probably in everyone's opinion, she'd heard some things from Padme about the man and his mouthy, pretty-boy apprentice, for that matter) noise and quickly arched into a more rigid sitting position atop Bail. "I'm ... so sorry," he gasps, and discreetly wipes at his mouth with his fingers. The Jedi begins to dismount, but a hand on his upper arm stops him. "Not ... yet," she hears Bail murmur through somewhat-clenched teeth, and she doesn't mean to look down - and they're both, thank the Force or whatever it is that Jedi say, fully clothed, so it's not that, at least - but, well, she can understand the embarrassment, even though boners stopped (for the most part) being funny to her around the same time she should have grown out of blushing furiously every time a guy deigned to talk to her. 

"I, uh, I'm sorry," she says hastily, as well, and is prepared to once again tell Mr. Ando Primeval that, alas, Bail still cannot take his call at this time. She begins seeing herself out, but Bail's smoothly recovered baritone voice stops her momentarily in her tracks.

"Sheltay, please ... take the rest of the afternoon off, would you? Just put the away message up before you go, and then I'll see you after the weekend." She nods quickly and does what he asks, but not before returning to the Ando Prime official's line. Livid, both because of the wait and the fact that, once more, his persistence has not yielded the desired result of never having to talk to a woman ever again, the other man is maybe five seconds into yet another tireless diatribe about her lack of intelligence and general worth as a being, when her finger itchily taps the "RLS CLL" button. "Whoopsie," she smiles, and then collects her purse and leaves early.

*

 

Monday morning is about as awkward as she anticipates, though Bail seems to be faring even worse than she, given that he looks like he slept there the previous night, bedraggled clothing and all, and also, he's brought her one of her favorite pastries from the Senate cafeteria, presumably as a peace offering. Even so, she cannot resist ribbing him at least a little: "So, where did you guys meet?" she teases drolly, and Bail smiles.

"We actually met when he was still apprenticed to Qui-Gon Jinn. He became ... my personal Jedi consort, officially, and unofficially, Breha wasn't in the picture yet, so I suppose it was only slightly scandalous." She titters and he looks down a little. "He's a very dear friend, and I haven't been able to find time to see him in a while. I suppose that's why we grew ... sloppy." He looks at her anew, and she cannot help but feel a twinge of sympathetic pain on his behalf; she's not seen this side of Bail Organa before - his marriage to Breha, such that it is, has always been a rather perfunctory, passionless affair, even before all this baby business began - and it is heartening.

Still, there is the necessity of the following question: "What do I do if Breha calls?" she asks softly, and Bail appears to seriously consider this for several moments.

At last, he inclines his head forward. "Let's stick with the same protocol as before," he intones, and she nods. The pastry is delicious, and when she catches Bail staring moonily at an otherwise innocuous-looking framed photo from a dinner party some months ago - himself flanked by both Obi-Wan and Breha, the table's other attendees include Senator Amidala, Anakin Skywalker, and Chancellor Palpatine - she cannot help but smile to herself.

*

 

Fortunately, there are no more slip-ups for a while, though that does not mean that Obi-Wan stops coming there; far from it, in fact. Some days, he even brings her a small token, fresh-cut flowers for her desk, occasional appointment cards filled out with clever messages - apparently, Jedi also cannot resist the allure of stolen office supplies - and always, he is polite and ebullient, eyes twinkling, mouth drawn up in a small grin.

It is entirely possible that she has a bit of a girl-crush, an honest-to-goodness, almost-twenty-nine-in-two-months-year-old girl-crush. 

*

 

The day it finally happens begins inauspiciously, at best. Obi-Wan arrives, as he is wont to do these days, and Bail's door is propped open already in anticipation. That's when she receives the electronic correspondence from Breha's private, live-in nursemaid: "Fertility treatment failed - thought we had something for a couple of days, but back to the drawing board. Breha still pretty devastated, though. Best, Rayann." It's precisely the kind of thing Bail likes to know about right away, and so Sheltay rolls out of her rolling desk chair and twists open the door by the knob.

She'll say one thing for Master Kenobi: He appears to be quite talented with his mouth in other ways besides negotiations and small-talk. 

Bail's reaction is most assuredly comical. "Sheltay, stars' end!" he gasps, and Obi-Wan gurgles in a similar state of surprise, and then begs off his interrupted blow-job. Clothing is hurriedly rearranged, and Sheltay stifles a sigh ... and then, something else, something tingly. There's something primal about what she's just walked in on, and the lingering scent, the pheromones in the air, the recent memory of Obi-Wan's flushed face and hollowed cheeks as he swirled his tongue along her employer's hardened dick ... well, it had been a while, truth be told, and ... well.

"My apologies, boss-man: Breha's nurse just sent me a message. I guess her latest treatment is a wash." The pain on Bail's face is immediate; likewise, Obi-Wan's face is the pinnacle of compassion, his eyes wide, hands clasped in front of himself, head ever so slightly bowed.

"Bail, my deepest apologies. I ... if this is a bad time -"

"No!" The sharp tone makes Sheltay wonder just how often the two have had this exact conversation, and also, who wins. "Please," she hears Bail plead, his voice softer now, and then watches him reach down to clasp both of Obi-Wan's hands with his. "Please," he says again, "it won't do any good if I'm there or here - the only thing that you leaving would affect is my loneliness." He tugs the smaller man into a standing position, and kisses him chastely on the mouth. "Stay," he whispers, and Obi-Wan hesitates, and then, finally, nods.

It's awkward after that; both pairs of eyes are suddenly on her, and she feels decidedly out of place - and aroused, still, if she's honest with herself, her early birthday gift to herself is going to be getting some use in a very specialized area tonight. "I just ... sorry about your loss," she gets out, and turns to leave. Once again, however, Kenobi foils her plans.

"Are you quite all right, dear?" 

She blinks and turns back around. "Sorry?" she asks, even though she heard him perfectly well.

Obi-Wan moves closer, expression a little more shuttered, a little more perceptive than usual. "You seem a little out of sorts, and not, I suspect, simply because of Breha's pregnancy tragedy." In front of her now, his gaze is clear, and she very nearly swoons. "Is there something that we can do for you, Sheltay?" he asks softly, reaching out precociously to push a long, dark strand of her hair that has escaped from its high ponytail atop her head behind her ear. "Something you want from us, perhaps?"

His fingernails are really, really nicely buffed, so decides. Like, both for someone who spends weeks and months on a battlefield, probably eating bugs that he has to catch himself, but even probably to the manicurist she and Padme sometimes go to together when they need a 'Spa Day.' He is a man of many talents, Sheltay thinks, and, she decides definitively in the same snap second, she wants him.

"I'll go ... put on the away message," she says, pointing, and does.

It's less awkward than it should be to return, to shut the door behind her, mostly out of habit, and stand before Master Kenobi anew, awaiting further instructions. For his part, Bail is relaxed against his armchair, watching them with idle interest. Before her, Obi-Wan's expression is kind, though there is a somewhat raw element to it, paralleling what she'd walked in on just before. "Bail asks for much from you, young one," he intones sweetly, and then kisses her, and wow, she hardly even cares that she just saw him blowing her boss with those same lips like ten minutes before; in fact, she doesn't care at all. She is willing to share. Obi-Wan's beard tickles her chin and throat, insomuch as he begins to slide down her neck after kissing her face a little, too, and it definitely has an effect on her girl-crush parts down below.

Obi-Wan's encouragement of her stripping is implied more than anything, mostly by his hands lightly caressing the tops of her breasts as they poke out of her shirt, and also by the fingers that trail ticklingly across her abdomen. Soon, she is nude, save for her shoes, a simple pair of white pumps she bought at a sample sale two years ago and wears often, and her hair, because in spite of appearances, the high ponytail is actually a rather elaborate and timely endeavor to undertake each day - and who knows whether she'll want to go out later, besides. Watching Obi-Wan collect her wadded up panties after she steps out of them, and then flick them with playful carelessness over his shoulder into a pile with her other discarded garments, is utterly ridiculous, but she still laughs.

And then, he's leading her across the room towards Bail, whose legs part to accommodate her sitting between them, and then a flick of Kenobi's fingers encourages her to lean back against her boss, which she does, wrapping an arm kind of awkwardly around his shoulders for leverage. "Okay, Sheltay?" Bail asks her, and she nods; Bail has only ever been an absolute gentleman for as long as she's known him, and so it stands to reason that his examining of her breasts with his hands is nothing short of chivalrous. Sheltay, too, was a dutiful enough student of etiquette, and as such, she feels it's only polite to show him that she appreciates what he's doing. "Aaahh," she moans, and he ceases flicking his thumb nails over her nipples temporarily, gazing at her with vague concern. 

"Shel-"

"Nnn, keep going!" And so he does. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan has since squatted between her legs, which he parts with limited difficulty, and then ... "holy shit," she gasps, because she was totally correct, Obi-Wan's beard feels amazing rubbing against her vagina, to say nothing of his tongue, which is now lapping across the small nub revealed by the red-haired man's gently questing fingers. Her legs shake a little while he eats her out, and Bail kindly continues to play with her breasts, cupping them, pinching her nipples, even acquiescing to a short make-out session, just before Sheltay's back arches and she comes, screaming a little, from Obi-Wan's ministrations. Even her birthday present has hardly gotten her off so quickly, and she strongly suspects Jedi powers at work here, but sagging against Bail in the aftermath, she has no particular interest in accusing Kenobi of much of anything except that he obviously has an as-of-yet unrealized calling as an OB-GYN. Or a fluffer on the set of some ridiculous Holonet porno locale.

Eventually, she is able to slide sheepishly off of Bail, embarrassed by the trail of wetness left behind on his leg. "Eh," he shrugs eloquently, before beginning to peel his pants off, kicking off his shoes and also starting to wiggle out of his shirt. It's also interesting to entertain the idea of Obi-Wan stripping; Sheltay turns and offers to assist him, but the other man begs off with that ever-present smile. "It's quite all right, my dear," he tells her, but she's still gratified to see that, when the Jedi leggings eventually come off, Obi-Wan Kenobi does, in fact, have a boner. And okay, maybe it's still a little funny, but mostly, she just wants to see what it can do. "That's really not necessary ..." Obi-Wan tells her as she climbs carefully to her knees before him, but he does not tug his cock away from her waiting mouth, nor do his eyes travel far from watching her lick around the head, spreading spittle and some of his own fluid around, before suckling harder, making him buck. 

Behind her, she can hear Bail's clothing rustling, as well. Her boss shifts a little to accommodate her hand grasping at his own penis, and slowly, she begins jerking him off, rubbing just below the cockhead and up and down the shaft, pumping his balls, all while continuing to fellate Master Kenobi. She suspects she could get them to both jizz like this, but suddenly, Obi-Wan is standing her up again, and her hands drop to her sides.

He favors her with another kiss, and then, helping her to prop her leg along his waist, holds her steady with one hand, while the other reaches between her legs anew. Entering her is not so difficult a feat - in complete honesty, she could probably go again if needed - though he begins pumping with courteous slowness, allowing her pleasure, as well, and also, giving Bail ample time to catch up, so to speak, behind her. Her experiences with anal have been few and far between at this point, and so she's relieved when she feels Bail spreading her apart first not with his cock, but with something sticky spread across his fingers. Obi-Wan continues to drive into her with light pressure - she can tell he's holding off because his face is flushed and pinched a little tightly, and she runs a hand along his cheek to show him that she appreciates it (obviously, finishing school has paid off amply) - and finally, Bail's fingers are replaced by his cock, and suddenly, she's full to the brim with one in each end, her hands scrabbling for purchase along Obi-Wan's bare shoulders, digging into his back a little with her pretty nails (purple, this pay period) when she moves closer and making him hiss. They aren't in perfect unison, but close, and she can feel her boss' leanly muscled stomach pressing against the small of her back as he takes her from behind. Hands clench at her from all sides; her leg starts to shake from where it continues to be propped, and Obi-Wan rubs at the thigh a little, and grips it so as to take some of the pressure off of her to keep it there. 

Bail comes first. It's a little surprising, but perhaps part of that famous Jedi resolve is being able to hold off orgasms; sure enough, Master Kenobi's release soon follows, and Sheltay enjoys watching his face as he gradually allows himself to experience the pleasure of it. Quickly enough, though, he looks chagrined. "I suppose it is foolish to ask now, per se, but ... should we be worried about any possibility of conception --?" He trails off, and Sheltay laughs outright.

"No worries, boss-man's insurance pays for me to take the pill. Already had it with my morning muffin."

"Oh, well." Obi-Wan's face is relieved, and it's comical; for a split second, Sheltay considers 'joking' that Bail and Breha could have raised the excesses of this recent union, such that they might be, but she quickly decides against it, given the newness of Breha's latest miscarriage. 

Behind her, Bail begins to clean up, collecting garments strewn about the office, even going so far as to sanitize his hands with the small container of the stuff he keeps on the corner of his desk at all times. "You want I should wipe down the office with those citrus-y cloths you like?" Sheltay asks, and Bail smirks.

Watching the Jedi re-dress seems to capture both Sheltay's and Bail's attentions. "Same time next week, then?" the General asks eventually, having tucked himself back into his pants and tunic and boots. He presses a nice, firm kiss to Sheltay's mouth, and then a bit more involved one to Bail's, arm hooked around the Senator's head, mouths opening simultaneously to accommodate the exchange of tongues and perhaps some fluids. When it's over, Bail seems reluctant to let the Jedi Master go, though he eventually does, watching Obi-Wan sashay towards the outermost door. "I trust I have a standing appointment?" he asks, just before turning the knob to let himself out into the public hallway, and Bail smiles.

"If Sheltay says you need an appointment card, just call my direct line," he instructs, and pats his faithful assistant on the shoulder. Obi-Wan is gone, then, and Bail insists on cleaning up after himself. "Why don't you treat yourself to one of those 'Spa Days' with Senator Amidala this weekend, on me?" he asks, and her eyes light up. "Just charge it to Breha's account, of course."

"Of course." This job has its perks, Sheltay thinks, and hunkers down in her comfy desk chair, making sure everything is in its place before turning the phone back on.


End file.
